What does the Devil tell you?
by Deception inc
Summary: Despite everything that had happened between then and now, Vergil's death still haunted him. The shock had been too great. : Dark, with a commonly known spoiler, oneshot. :


_A/N: For the first time, I'm testing my writing skills at Devil May Cry. The idea wouldn't leave me alone, and although I intended a different ending this one will do.  
_

_Summary: Despite everything that had happened between then and now, Vergil's death still haunted him. The shock had been too great._

_Warnings: Dark, twisted, confusing, and spoilers.  
_

**D****evil May Cry:**

**What does the Devil tell you?**

"_I'm staying. This place… was our father's home." _

Despite everything that had happened between then and now, those were the words that haunted Dante after Nero Angelo was destroyed. After… after Dante had killed his own twin.

The shock had been great. Though Dante would not admit it there was a slight chance that he had, even after all these years, hoped that maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to save his brother. Maybe meet him and talk some sense into him. And so, after returning to the shop, the demon hunter did not acknowledge any phone calls for quite a while.

"_I'm staying. This place… was our father's home." _

At first he'd said it without much enthusiasm. He'd pulled ebony from its holster and shot the demon's head to pieces. Almost dully he'd muttered a silent "Jackpot." The slight echo of his voice in the otherwise silent room brought a pang of feelings that Dante forcefully pushed out of the way.

That echo, no matter how quiet, was enough to discourage him from using the word for weeks to come.

Then, some time after the incident, when Dante had started to take on more jobs, he found himself on a mission to hunt a particularly elusive demon. He spent an hour searching before swearing bitterly and deciding that he did not have the patience for hide and seek. It was a pity too since he could really have used the money.

Turning to leave the area, he suddenly felt compelled to check behind a patch of bushes; as if someone had slapped him over the head. Not one to ignore his instincts, Dante drew his sword and changed his course. There the demon he'd been chasing crawled around among twisting roots and undergrowth, and feeling more than a bit pissed, Dante made quick work out of it. He chose to shrug off the strangeness of finding it so suddenly, after not sensing the slightest trace only minutes ago.

"_I'm staying. This place… was our father's home."_

When anniversary of Vergil's death came by, Dante closed the doors to his shop and pulled out the cord of his phone. No music, no guests, no jobs, no disturbances. Only a few six-packs of beer and Yamato lain out neatly on the table before him.

"Cheers, Verg," the demon hunter said and lifted one of the bottles. He did not speak again for a long, long time after that; simply drank one bottle after the other. Only when a slight drunkenness had settled over him, did he begin to talk. Dante told Yamato about the past year and any meaningless thing that came to mind until finally he became drunk enough to simply sit and stare in silence.

He woke the next day sprawled out on the sofa while grasping Yamato in his hand. The porcelain toilet became his best friend that day and Dante miserably imagined Vergil's malicious smirk and biting sarcasm as it would have been spoken years ago.

"_I'm staying. This place… was our father's home."_

Slowly, the time to leave everything behind him came. Dante knew he couldn't continue pinning after dead family members. Hell, he hadn't been this bad even with his mother. Then again, he'd been very young when his mother had died.

As more jobs began filing in, Dante abandoned his silent antisocialism in favour of reckless daredevil-ism. More than once he'd come out of a fight more bruised than would have been necessary simply because he wanted to handle it the hard way. He wanted to feel immortal.

But he wasn't immortal. More than enough people had told him that, some with an accompanying slap. Wasn't he the last of Sparda's bloodline? Shouldn't he be more careful? Yet Dante found himself scornful towards their concerns and confident in his own skills, both as a demon and a killer of such. Yes, killer. Hunter had over time turned into slayer in his mind, and slayer had become killer. Sometimes Dante wondered how long it would take before he would begin to refer to himself as murderer…

Thoughts were forcefully pushed aside and friends were ignored and Dante threw himself into his job. And through fate or blind luck or perhaps even a blasted curse of some sorts, he always came back in a bearable shape.

"_I'm staying. This place… was our father's home."_

It was one such a careless mission where he'd thrown himself into the fray without a second thought, that he found himself literally running on walls to stay alive. Dante alternated constantly between his sword and his guns, keeping demons away and killing as many as he could while using as little energy as possible. Conserving strength would be his survival tactic in this fight and the only tactic worth using.

It was in the midst of such a battle that Dante felt a slight thrill in his chest. He constantly lost sight of his enemies and it felt good. Every hit he took reminded him that he wasn't immortal, he wasn't omnipotent, and he had his limits.

And it was in the midst of such a battle that Dante heard a demon appear behind him while he was busy with another. He expected, almost hoped for a painful slash across his back before he'd have time to turn around, and was therefore genuinely surprised when he felt nothing. He cast a look over his shoulder in time to see the demon shatter and evaporate. Shrugging off the strange death, Dante assumed that he must have hit the demon while flailing around with his weapons.

But as time went by, Dante became discouraged to find that it kept happening again and again.

"_I'm staying. This place… was our father's home."_

Sometimes, he suspected that he was loosing his mind. The few demons that could have killed him all seemed to suddenly become distracted enough to give Dante a chance. And, though he made sure never to mention it out loud, even when alone, sometimes Dante could swear having seen a shadow at the corner of his eyes. And sometimes, he swore the shadow took on a tint of blue.

The idea was… wonderfully ironic. The last of Sparda's bloodline, saviour of the world, slowly grows helplessly insane. Dante could but laugh.

With those thoughts in mind and feeling better than in a long, long time, he lifted both Ebony and Ivory, crossed them over each other in a hauntingly familiar fashion, and smiled manically at the demon before him as he uttered the forbidden word: "Jackpot." The dog-faced, vaguely humanoid beast shattered just like Dante's smile did. He did not turn to look around himself. He did not lower the guns or move from the position he'd taken. For the first time since Vergil's death Dante felt truly frightened.

The demon had not looked at Dante before its death. It had looked behind him. It had looked confused. And… he was certain that he had heard it. He could not have imagined it. A soft echo of that forbidden word, drifting past his ear like a whisper carried by the wind.

That night Dante raged. He threw furniture and unnamed objects around his shop and screamed at the memory of his brother. He screamed and screamed until no sound would leave his aching throat.

"_I'm staying. This place… was our father's home."_

Dante began to concentrate on his surroundings; specifically the sounds around him and the reactions of other demons. He began to note how every now and again, eyes would stray over to something by his side. He made note of the echo each time he pulled the trigger with That word. And as he lied down to sleep, Dante placed Yamato next to him on the bed and listened to the soft whispers only he could hear.

The others became convinced he'd finally lost his mind.

Dante did not care what they thought.

It did not matter if all of this was a strange form of schizophrenia or if it was really happening. It had become Dante's reality, and that was enough for him. He could hear his brother's voice nearly every night. He could feel the soft brush as his brother passed him by. He could sense his brother's emotions, caused by his own behaviour. He could see his brother's reflection in mirrors and windows and on his weapons whenever triggering his demon form.

Even if no one else could.

"_I'm staying. This place… was our father's home."_

**End.**


End file.
